The narrative is: Canadian guy meets Hiroshima gal, then they have a couple of baby girls. The lighter side of bicultural parenting.

June 30, 2012

E-Tales: Guam Diary Part II

Sat.,
Dec 24: Roused from sleep at 0530. Bundled into car with groggy sister, chirping
parents. Rented Honda gets nothing but verbal abuse from Daddy. Sign: Dededo Flea
Market. Suspect spelling error. Cars and pickup trucks parked pell-mell. Makeshift
chicken hutches, tantilizing smell of BBQ (at 0630?), and inescapable Eric Clapton, Extreme
and Journey mix on loudspeaker system. Dad crows about bargains to be had; his
code for cheap Dr. Seuss books. Mongrel dogs
meander, somehow seem friendlier to me than coiffed canines back home. Marina freaks
out when viewing creepy array of Barbie Dolls with no clothes—how childish. Mom
and Dad try to blend in but it is blatantly obvious, even to me, that we are not
locals. We all have a tremendous amount of fun and enjoy this place very much. We are flea market folk anywhere.

Late
breakfast at Denny’s different from hotel. Parents hoover coffee and toast. Dad
reads paper. I prefer the main course of whipped butter with some pancakes on
the side. M follows suit. She is under my spell at last! Waitress derogatory about
rival server in other section. Wazzat all about? We board rent-a-car again—no booster
seat debut. Remainder of morning spent touring Guam in car. Brown jungle leaves
lie on rural highways. Palm tree fronds droop over lonely side roads as whelping, tethered
dogs lunge at our car when we drive by. Absolutely stunning ocean views and lush green hills capture the eye. Bus stops look like huge mushrooms. Daddy
goofy, enthuses about “authenticity.” Sign:
Marianas Military Museum at US Naval Station Agat. Daddy looks at Mommy. She shakes
head decisively. Oh thank you for that, God.

Hungry
now. Arggh. Just gimme some Cheetos or I will start screaming, man. I am bought
off with vague promise of “almost there” and Chuck E. Cheese…”soon.” What is this enchanted
eatery?

Returning
to tourist strip and hotel; stop at Piti bomb craters. Mom grumbles about entrance
fee as we descend below waterline. Sibling loses mind at sight of fish outside,
performs toddler version of The Twist. Caused by our mood or this place?

Sun.,
Dec 25: Minor elation of hearing “Merry Christmas”
from Mommy seared by realization all presents are back in Japan, teasing. Just a
few surrogate gifts now. I accept the loss; Marina oblivious. Daddy insists on dumb
photos of us parked in front of a tropical Christmas tree. I submit just to get
my Frosted Flakes and guava tang. Hotel staff slightly grumpier today. I dig that.
We go swimming in the morning. Clear, salty water and real fish swim around my
feet. THIS IS AWESOME! Dopamine surge. But somehow can’t put my head underwater.
Eventually we all wade in surf together. Feel like a character in John Updike short
story. Utterly conventional,superior fun.

Afternoon:
we go to the Underwater World Aquarium. Walked by huge duty free shopping emporiums.
Mommy recounts her vomiting outside one during a prior visit years ago. Whaaa? Mommy did
stuff before I got here? Pass another ABC store (ubiquitous) with canned James
Brown. Think: the Godfather of Soul is like chocolate ice cream—never fails to bring
out the funk. I do feel good. More walking and Chinese food for dinner.

To
cap off the day: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Ask
for more SpongeBob Squarepants. Denied? It’s only 2200! There are no words.
Only tears.

Mon.,
Dec 26: Daddy looked pale this morning. Croaks out “watermelon vodkas.” Hmm. Maybe
leave him alone best option. Last breakfast in hotel. Nice lady puts everything
I ask for in an omelet. I decide not to eat it. Many other guests coo at Marina
in her high chair. That little bitch. “They” are right: there is always someone
out there younger and cuter. Swimming one last time. Used to salty water and warmth.
Decide it’s OK to live here. Mommy and Daddy seem bummed today. Not my fault. They
need to work on time management skills. Tension-filled suitcase packing as I ponder
The Simpsons. Mommy switches to The Weather Channel. Why did Mommy not respond
when I bellow at her to change the channel back right now? Out of hotel by lunchtime. Who is this man Tony Roma and
why do my parents want to go there so badly? I’m not hungry. I ask for ice cream:
“OK.” I love Daddy. Later, I ask for one more ice cream: “No.” Scratch that. I hate
Daddy.

Afternoon:
Last views of this warm, fragrant place framed by taxi windows. Airplane ride cool.
Sister sleeps—spiritual cavalry. I get plenty o’ juice and coloring books to work.
Then back on solid ground. Dark out. Cold in Yokohama but somehow futon feels better
than plush bourgeois bed. No need for midnight pee; all is well.